


I Deserve It

by amandaterasu



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blow Jobs With Teeth, M/M, Necrophilia, Semi-Public Sex, Undead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaterasu/pseuds/amandaterasu
Summary: Thassarian and Koltira are tasked with supplementing the Stormwind Guard for a party at the keep.Note: I don't consider the depictions of violence in the fic particularly graphic, but others might, so to be on the safe side I tagged it.
Relationships: Koltira Deathweaver/Thassarian
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74
Collections: Love is in the Air Fic Exchange 2020





	I Deserve It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borrowedphrases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/gifts).



> I've never written this pairing before, despite shipping them since Cata, so it was fun to mess around.

“They say the sin’dorei will try _anything_ once,” the courtier giggled behind her folded fan. “Is that true of you as well? Or are the rumors true with regards to what… _happens?”_ Her eyes flicked down to Koltira Deathweaver’s waist and he stiffened uncomfortably. 

Thassarian coughed. “My lady, I believe the other courtiers would object to such a lewd display, and I’m sure it would do nothing for your reputation.” Both of them had the ill luck to have earned the Deathlord’s ire, and in recompense had been sent to supplement the royal guard for this raucous party. Now the two of them were stationed on either side of a set of broad sweeping stairs in the courtyard of the Stormwind Palace, watching as the lesser nobility debauched themselves with champagne and each other. 

The woman before them, however, would not be deterred by the presence of an audience. “You must tell me, Sin’dorei - how did you even get in here? Shouldn’t you be in Orgrimmar? Playing your harp for those savages?”

A bout of laughter pulled Thassarian’s gaze to one side, and it was his turn to stiffen. A number of other courtiers were watching, amusement and delight evident in their sneers as the woman continued needling Koltira.

“I don’t play the _harp,”_ Koltira replied, as if insulted. “Anyone can play harp with a modicum of practice, as it requires little more than an ability to pluck the right string. I play the lute, which requires _actual talent.”_

“Did you hear that?” One of her many interested onlookers laughed and turned to the crowd at large. “This elf claims he can play the lute! What say you? Shall we have him prove it?”

Koltira let out a slight groan under his breath.

“You don’t have to -” Thassarian began, but the other death knight’s glare cut him off. Koltira had been strange since they retrieved him from Undercity, and the war with the Horde had done nothing to improve Deathweaver’s demeanor. He seemed too scattered, too angry, too anxious, and too easily baited.

“I’ll play for you,” Koltira said, his mouth caught up in a vicious smirk. “Not that I expect you to have any real appreciation for it. But if it will keep you drunks in line, then by all means.”

The crowd hissed at his comment, but he turned as if uninterested. “Better they be targeting me than causing any real trouble,” he murmured to Thassarian as he passed by on his way to the minstrels near the gate. “A lute, if you please?” 

A few moments later, Thassarian’s jaw went slack as he listened to the first delicate strains of Koltira’s song. It had a plaintive melody in a light treble that seemed to twist around a sturdy, unchanging tempo provided by the bass of the piece. How the man was managing it with only two hands, he could not guess, but it continued unabated, making something stir in Thassarian’s chest that had been stilled since the Third War.

Koltira’s eyes lifted from the neck of the lute, and his lips parted when he caught Thassarian’s gaze. They stared at each other - frozen in a thousand ways that had nothing to do with being a pair of corpses. It wasn’t the first time the human wondered if he knew, if he suspected that the quiet moments in their friendship were not just companionable silence. Instead they were the evidence of his own cowardice - a chorus of unspoken confessions and a multitude of suppressed desires.

Thassarian felt his lips move of their own accord, speaking the elf’s name like a prayer in the barest whisper, but it was still enough to shatter the tremulous moment. Koltira’s eyes widened in shock and his jaw set. The song abruptly ended as he nearly threw the lute back into its owner’s hands, and stormed off without a word.

The nobility made a few comments to each other as Thassarian crossed the courtyard toward the gate, hoping to follow after him. Some quiet, dutiful part of his mind told him to stay and fulfill his deathlord’s command. But he quashed it just the same as the guilt that sometimes threatened to tear him apart. Not tonight.

He found Koltira just outside the gates, one hand on the white stone wall, the other in his hair as he stared, unseeing, at the lake. Thassarian wished he could shake whatever spell the song had cast on him, but he found himself enraptured like a Light-forsaken schoolboy by his closest friend’s form in the moonlight that leeched whatever gold remained in his locks and left them naught but molten silver.

“Koltira,” he said again, a little louder, and the elf whirled on him, pain and anger in his lifeless eyes. This, at least, was a song Thassarian knew well.

“It’s never _enough_ for you, is it?” Koltira began, the hand from his hair dropping to his side, squeezing in and out of a fist. “You do nothing but take, Thass. Take, and take, and take, and take, and _take!”_

Thassarian’s swords caught Byfrost as it’s sickly glow bisected the night air, but Koltira did not abate. The two men traded blows - neither striking a hit on the other - but that was more due to Thassarian choosing to do naught but defend himself than any lack of skill. Since his return from Undercity, Koltira had needed this, some nights - to be cruel, to be angry, to attack and rage and lash out. Thassarian did the only thing he could: thank the Light Koltira’s anger was directed at him, and mitigate the damage to the best of his ability.

But something was _different_ in Koltira’s anger tonight. It was somehow sharper and more menacing, and Thassarian feared whatever came of this night’s rage would have lasting consequences.

“Please, Koltira,” Thassarian said. “At least talk to me.”

“Still not content with what you’ve taken, are you, Thass?” the elf hissed. “No matter how much you rip from me, it’s never enough.” 

Byfrost came in from the left, and Thassarian jumped back. “You took my brother.”

A lunge, which the human side-stepped. “You claimed my life.” Old hurts these were. Old wounds between them that could not be easily mended.

“You took all hope of my eternal reward.” Koltira’s stance shifted, the expert skill of an elven duelist coming to the fore as he changed his angle mid-swing, nearly taking off one of Thassarian’s legs if the man had not brought both weapons to intervene. 

The elf huffed in frustration. “You destroyed my _innocence_ with the things you made me do.” Virulent chartreuse blinded the human as Byfrost passed just before his eyes, barely missing him.

Koltira changed tacks again, and his teeth were bared as he snarled at Thassarian, “You made yourself at home in my mind.” The declaration caught him off guard, and he was rewarded for his carelessness with a spike of pain across his cheek.

“You wouldn’t even let me hate you,” Koltira took a few steps back, his visage still twisted in pain as he brought Byfrost up before his face. “Though Sylvanas tortured me with word of you, I at least had the comfort that you had not come to save me, and were not _going_ to come save me. I was free to hate you with everything I am for that betrayal. But then you came to save me anyway.” The elf brought the sword level with his shoulder again, and pinned his merciless gaze on Thassarian.

“And now, now you come for the last shreds of my heart, as if you could make me love you.” 

Koltira rushed him, but the last words cut deeper than Byfrost ever could. Thassarian did not raise his blades to defend himself, and they clattered to the ground as Byfrost came to rest - still humming with the elf’s coiled strength and fury - a hair’s breadth from his throat.

“I hate you,” Koltira whispered, his eyes shut tight, his brow furrowed.

“I deserve it,” Thassarian offered - a paltry admission in the face of everything Koltira had been through, both at his own hands and through his negligence. “But I will not take something you would not willingly give me. I had my fill of that while we were still Scourge.”

“That’s the most insidious part of this, I fear.” Another hum, and Byfrost was leaning against the stone wall. Koltira turned his back to Thassarian and stared out at the moon’s reflection on the surface of the lake. “My brother, my life, my… obsession. Everything you have taken, I have given gladly, much to my great shame. And I would give you more besides, if you would only ask.”

Thassarian’s head swam near insensibility - he must have misheard. It was as if Koltira were speaking some foreign language that merely had the same cadence and phonemes as the Common tongue.

“I am a desperate fool for you, Thass,” Koltira said. “I hate it. I wish it could be different. Maybe…” He paused, still not looking over his shoulder at the human who yearned to search his face. “Maybe my confinement was my fault - if I had been able to hate you, she wouldn’t -”

He had moved without realizing, his hand on the elf’s shoulder, turning him so he could see his eyes. Koltira looked troubled - _lost,_ even - but also strangely resigned. 

“I hate you,” Koltira said again, as his fingers slid into Thassarian’s hair, his thumb smearing the black blood from the fresh cut on the human’s cheek.

“I deserve it,” Thassarian replied, and then his teeth hurt from the way they crashed into Koltira’s as they kissed. He had heard, in taverns and brothels and other places of ill repute, that elven men were just like women when it came to the acts of love, but there was nothing effeminate about the way Koltira kissed him.

If kisses were homicide, Thassarian’s were like fire - hot and all-consuming, fit to leave Koltira panting and gasping with what little breath was left to his remains. But worse - so much worse - Koltira’s were a blade, sharp and unyielding and sliding between the human’s ribs before he had a chance to defend himself, right into the core of his long-stilled heart. Every time they kissed he gasped again at the shock of it, and Koltira took advantage of his parted lips to press further into his mouth.

The sound of metal hitting the ground pulled him from the trance induced by Koltira’s attentions, and he blinked at surprise at the elf’s belt, curled on the ground at their feet. He only realized then that in his ardor he had begun to undress the man, and he pulled his hands away. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice rough with longing. “I will not push -”

“Thass,” Koltira growled and grabbed his gorget in one hand, pulling him back down until their lips were so close they nearly touched. “If you stop now, I really _will_ hate you.” Then he smiled, the moonlight catching every sharp edge of him - his ears, his cheekbones, his teeth, his chin. “Now help me get my armor off.”

“Demanding,” Thassarian grumbled, but his fingers moved along the latches and hooks of Koltira’s armor, pulling it off with familiarity. How many times had he removed his armor before, to check an injury? Now the only real injury was their past, and how long both of them had waited to think of anything resembling a future. 

Soon, Koltira wore nothing save the runic tattoos that shimmered with the same unearthly light as his eyes. He smirked viciously and kissed Thass again, before murmuring, “Well?” into the hollow space between their lips.

 _”Demanding,”_ Thassarian repeated, but he had no qualms about this. This was the easy part, the stuff of his secret nighttime imaginings for years now, a thousand fantasies kept confined to silent, lonely nights during his imprisonment and after. 

As he slid to his knees, Thassarian could not help the smirk of amusement that graced his face. He knew the rumors, and the lush at the party had it backwards. It wasn’t that a death knight’s cock was always flaccid, it’s that it was always hard. The blood, after death, had to settle somewhere. He glanced up at Koltira one last time. “If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

He sneered. “If I want you to stop, I’ll just kill you.”

“Fair enough,” Thassarian whispered, and finally indulged himself.

Koltira’s body smelled like a dead, mouldering corpse, but his responses to having his cock buried in Thassarian’s throat were as powerful as any living man’s would be. He let out a strangled noise, caught somewhere between a growl and a whimper, and fisted his hand in Thassarian’s hair. “I hate you,” he hissed.

Thassarian made no verbal reply, his mouth otherwise occupied, but merely dragged his brutish fingers along the muscles of the other death knight’s thighs, tracing every one to memorize the feel of him as his hands crept closer to the ass he’d been nearly caught staring at more than once. 

He heard Koltira’s breath hitch as he pulled his head back, scraping the barest edge of his teeth along his shaft. The elf’s grip in his hair tightened, and Thassarian glanced up, raising an eyebrow, as Koltira glared down at him, his face contorted strangely, a grimace that was half-pain and all pleasure. “Please,” he whispered, and the head of his cock twitched between Thassarian’s lips.

Let it never be said that Thassarian denied him. He attacked Koltira’s member with ferocious devotion, taking advantage of his lack of a functioning respiratory system or gag reflex to take the sin’dorei deep into his throat, his lips and tongue pulling fervently at him. 

The hand in Thassarian’s hair began to move in time with the thrusting of Koltira’s hips, and soon the human had to do little else but be still and let the elf take what pleasure he would have - but Thassarian was not one to remain idle. He unfastened his gauntlets and dropped them to the ground before bringing his hands up. One cradled Koltira’s balls in its palm, caressing them gently despite their nigh-uselessness at this point in their un-lives, and the touch made the elf moan into the night air. For the first time in a long time, Thassarian was grateful that parties were loud, and they would not be heard in the courtyard.

Thassarian’s other hand came up to his mouth, and he coated his middle finger in saliva that leaked out with each of Koltira’s movements. He was already near doubled over, clutching Thassarian’s head in his arms, but the human intended to give him what satisfaction he could. He slid his hand along Koltira’s thighs again, toward his ass, and stroked his puckered hole once, twice, then pressed against it the third time. 

Koltira cried out again, his voice ragged and uncontrolled, his only intelligible word a desperate _“Thass,”_ while his fingers scrabbled for purchase on the human’s breastplate. Nothing came forth, of course, as there was no vital essence to make such things, but it was a climax all the same, and soon Thassarian was sitting beside him against the stone wall, both of them panting for unnecessary breaths. 

Long, slender elven fingers twisted with Thassarian’s - shorter and rougher though they were. “I hate you,” Koltira said, but he was smiling, and he let his head fall to Thassarian’s shoulder in a way that could only be described as affectionate.

“I deserve it,” Thassarian replied, and pressed a kiss to Koltira’s scalp through his hair.

As the two of them slipped back into the party half an hour later, they caught Darion Mograine giving them a dark glare from across the courtyard. He strode to intercept them, and stopped short at the sight of their clasped hands. 

“Took you long enough,” he grunted.

Thassarian shrugged, but Koltira blinked in surprise. “That’s it?” he asked. “No long lecture about how Death Knights don’t feel anything?”

Darion gave him a level look. “If that was the case, I wouldn’t have had to tolerate Thassarian _mooning_ over you since Andorhal.”

Koltira smirked. “He always has been obvious, hasn’t he?”

“Not half so obvious as you,” Darion countered. “Refusing to leave his side, keeping half of Acherus awake with the way you cried for him in your nightmares, asking ‘Where’s Thass?’ every time he was out of sight for more than five minutes. Though it looks like I owe the Deathlord a thousand gold.”

“Oh?” Thassarian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We had a bet - whether or not you two were already together or going to get together tonight. Seems I lost.”

“Did you?” Koltira glanced at Thassarian, then back to Darion. “Which way did you bet?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Darion replied. “You don’t storm out of a party when your current lover is swooning over you playing a song, and you don’t come back to that same party holding hands unless something has changed.”

Thassarian laughed, and Koltira glared at him. “I hate you.”

“I deserve it,” He agreed, and lifted their clasped hands to his lips.


End file.
